The Chemist's Daughter
by A Velvet Nightmare
Summary: 'Beacon Hills was either my savior, or my saboteur: It quintessentially changed who I am as a person. But I can't say if when I look in the mirror nowadays, I can bare to look back at the reflection' Celeste becomes embroiled in a plot where the preternatural presence of makes itself known in Beacon Hills, and learns how she fits into this twisted jigsaw puzzle. Canon, Stiles/OC


_**The writing bug has come to me, after reading a lot of stories and I've decided to try something different: Yes, an OC will come to Beacon Hills but I'm purposely introducing them differently and to play a background role. So hopefully, the story itself can become more of what you want to see happen in Beacon Hills without compromising the canon plot lines and maybe give more of a story to those characters we didn't see enough of.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf, which saddens me deeply. If I did, there wouldn't be a single scene where men wore shirts ;)**_

_**So here is the prologue**_

* * *

_If I were to look back on my life before I arrived in Beacon Hills, I'd say that it was nothing but an illusion of perfection. A fragile tower of cards that was blown away when my eyes were opened: Opened to the fact that beneath the façade of civility we see on the streets, a war rages. Silent struggles for power between what is 'natural' and things that are more preternatural in their foundations. I'd consider why I ended up involved in these covert affairs, what role I played and how this would feed into the 'bigger picture' that I'm sure was being crafted long before I turned up in the town masquerading as a suburban paradise._

_I'd sit my sixteen year old self down and ask myself a number of questions. Questions that if I were to ask myself now, I know the answers would be as different as black is to white. As 'good' is to 'evil'. Beacon Hills was either my saviour, or my saboteur: It quintessentially changed who I am as a person. But I can't say if when I look in the mirror nowadays, I can bare to look back at the reflection. What is it that drives me? How far am I willing to go to do what I believe to be the 'right' thing? When will I grow tired of swimming in the waters of uncertainty? And walk a path I've chosen, even if it travels along the grey areas of moral ambiguity? _

_Words cannot contain the enormity of the changes I have witnessed in myself. I cannot make you fathom what I have experienced, but I can tell you in as much detail what led to this point. This turning point when I let the dice fall where they may, and sink into oblivion. You see, as cliché as it may sound to anyone but me, it all began with something as your parents getting divorced: Tragic in its own right but unfortunately not too rare in the current social climate._

* * *

"Why? Just tell me why you're shipping me off." I can't stop the whiny tone slipping into my voice. In fact, I am more impressed that I'm managing to hold onto some vestige of composure. My mother swans into my bedroom, where I'm enjoying one of those few moments of normalcy of binge watching The Voice and eating copious amounts of cookie dough, to tell me that I'm being literally flown across the country to live with my father.

Obviously it didn't happen so fast: There was manic laughing, denial, angsty wailing and righteous anger before we reached the point that I could actually form a coherent sentence. You see the thing about my father is that he has being nothing but the absent parent who does nothing but send his child support cheque on the first of the month, and that's how it has been for the last eleven years. So why is that changing now? What piqued his sudden interest in having his teenage daughter move in and disturb the lovely bachelor lifestyle I'm sure he has created wherever he's holed himself up.

"Darling, I've got something I have to sort out. A few business colleagues from my past have gotten in touch and they, your father thinks I'll be more successful in this particular venture and I'm inclined to agree with him." I hold back the biting remark almost pleading to spring from my tongue. My father just upped and left without rhyme or reason, why is she listening to his advice at all. Also, need I remind her that she is an archivist: No need for travel and therefore no need to abandon your young and impressionable daughter to a life of misery under the watchful eye of her satanic father.

Never mind that all this talk about 'business', being intentionally vague about her reasons for exiling me to 'Daddy Land'. It doesn't sit right with me at all, and one think I inherited from my biological father was the tendency to make it well known when something didn't sit right with me. As my mother knows all too well, judging by the way she purses her lips as I climb from my bed and begin pacing the room.

"No. If you're set on deporting me to God knows where, for God knows how long with Satan incarnate; you had better have a good reason. Business colleagues from the past? Listening to advice from the Judas who gave me 50% of my genes? Have you lost your mind? Is this some elaborate joke, because I really don't find it funny." The sarcastic vibe I was aiming for kind of went amiss when I start to get hysterical. If it's not a joke, then literally my life is beginning to fall apart like when Aileen Roberts tried on a size two dress: The seams are beginning to bust.

My mother doesn't respond how I expected, or as I hoped, her jaw clenches as she stands up: Not many people would say this about their mothers, but mine is intimidating. Perfect posture, arms folded gracefully across her chest. She seems composed and powerful, while I'm flailing like a fish out of water. Staring into her caramel brown eyes, is like looking into a mirror, but my heart plummets into my stomach as I absorb their expression: She's made her mind up. And when Eleanor Bevelle makes her mind up about something, there's nothing I can humanly do that will change her decision.

Any fight that I had inside of me seems to evaporate upon my realisation, dread claws at my stomach as the resignation hits me like a freight train. I babble mindlessly as the fight leaves me, hopelessness begins to suffocate me. I can feel my heart beating against my ribcage at the speed of light, my vision begins to blur: Everything is falling apart. Everything is going wrong, this isn't meant to happen. I feel my mother's strong arms wrap around me, her consoling words are drowned out by the inane buzzing that seems to ricochet around my skull. Pressure seems to build in my chest, the sound of my rapid heartbeat echoing in my ears; it becomes too much until everything explodes into blackness.

* * *

Coming around, I am blessed with those few moments where everything seems fine and then like a punch in the gut, it all comes back to me. Ideally, I'd want to wail from my bedroom window 'WHY ME?' but such dramatics have never impressed my mother; and that's why I just lie here, a martyr. Accepting the cruel fate that awaits me, staring at the clock on my bedside table tells me that it is 3.18 am.

I don't know how long I'm lay there, contemplating everything and nothing all at the same time; but eventually I hear my mother's voice drifting from her study at the end of the hall. I can't make out what she's saying but I definitely recognise the tone, it's her 'What I'm saying is very important, but I'm only saying it once and you'd better be listening' Curiosity becomes too much and without conscious thought I find myself sliding out of bed and creeping towards my bedroom door. She made the decision of sending me to my 'father' without consulting me, so I see no reason to give her any privacy.

"…their job is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. That isn't what we're meant to do, and you know it Adrian: If you can't keep yourself out of this mess, then I can't send Celeste to Beacon Hills. The only person I intend to protect is my daughter, and if you're unable of keeping out whatever is going to happen then I'll have to send Celeste elsewhere."

I can feel my eyes bugging from my skull. She's talking to the donor; this has got to be the first time since he walked out on us. And if she can't send me to him, she will send me elsewhere? To protect me. This is like geometry all over again, I'm lost. It's like I woke up and the definitions of all words have become jumbled. I hear someone respond, but I can't make out what was said: Whatever it is though must've affected mom as I hear her smack her hand against something.

"However strange this may sound Adrian, being with you is best for Celeste. You love her, you always have and you always will… and you're the one person I know will do whatever it takes to keep her out of the mess that we've made. I can't take her with me, or I would, but you know these people wouldn't listen to reason: They're coming for me and if Celeste gets in the way, then…"

Whatever would've happened to me remains a mystery, but the feeling of a shard of ice burrowing its way through my chest is enough to know that it wouldn't be good. The more mom speaks the more I'm confused and the more exasperated I become. What, or who is coming? What do they want? How does she know? What is it that 'Adrian' can do to protect me? It's like I've swallowed a bitter pill that kind of makes you see the world in a whole new light: A light where your seemingly normal mother is embroiled in some kind of sinister web and the probability of spending time with Adrian the douche is becoming more and more likely. A sigh of relief comes from the study.

"Thank you Adrian, I knew you'd do the right thing. I'll e-mail you tomorrow with all the details of when she'll be arriving, and remember: She's not a little girl any more. She won't be impressed with tales of mythical monsters… she might be a handful, but you deserve it. Just as much as I deserve the resentment she'll feel for me. Look after her, look after each other: And when this is over, I'll come straight back…..I promise."

I step away from the door, everything my mother said is playing in my head. What does this mean? I can feel the beginnings of a migraine making itself known as I try to apply logic to whatever's happening. It's safe to say I fail, but hearing my mother sound so broken has struck a chord with me: I might not know what's happening, and for all I know my mother could be in mortal danger, but mother does know best. Not that it consoles me about the inevitable clash of the titans when father meets daughter.

With this realisation, I return to staring at the clock on my bedside table; I know without a shadow of a doubt that sleep will elude me for hours to come. I just lie there and drown in pity for myself; fear of whatever it is that's forced my mom into this whole situation and most of all angry. Angry that my mom didn't trust me enough to tell me this herself, angry that I'm powerless and seen as nothing more than a liability. I don't know when it begins but tears begin to stream down my face, I don't hear when mom comes to my room. I just feel her lie beside me and wrap her arms around me.

"I know it seems rough now Celeste, but this is for the best. I wish it could be different…I, I love you so much…"

* * *

_**So that's the first chapter…**_

_**Who is Celeste's Daddy? **_

_**What is this 'business' and hijinks going on? Who is coming for Eleanor?**_

_**This is my first story and I hate to be that writer, but I don't want to waste time writing a story that people don't want to read. So just leave a review and let me know what you think, what you want to see etc.**_

_**Yours, A Velvet Nightmare.**_


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